


a wolf's mistress

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 02:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: Arya Stark. Of all the mysteries in the North, here was one Margaery would better like to understand.





	

 

The North was unlike any place Margaery had ever been.

The air here was so frigid it invaded her bones, making her weary and cold. Neither the roaring fires banked around the room nor the ermine blanket in her lap did much to warm her. The vaulted ceiling of the queen’s chamber at Winterfell was high, but to Margaery it seemed no better than a cave. It was difficult to see how people could live this way, for it was as foreign to her as the farthest reaches of Essos.

“So you also hope to find my sister.” Arya Stark spoke slowly, her hands steepled on the carved surface of the table before them. Direwolves twined with lions and deer in the border that ran around its dark mahogany perimeter.

Arya Stark. Of all the mysteries in the North, here was one Margaery would better like to understand. She had been instantly caught by the dark energy that the young de facto queen in the North emitted. The other woman was slight, yet moved with the purpose and agility of a knight twice her size and a prickly, almost feline dignity. But Margaery had not come here for that. Not primarily.

She cleared her throat. “I do. Finding Sansa is Queen Daenerys’ priority in the North. She hopes that by doing so, we can help fully restore your family to power.”

Sansa Stark had been missing for years. There were rumors across the North and the Riverlands of her sightings, yet none of them had ever come to anything.

“Did you help her in King’s Landing?” The Stark woman stared at Margaery over the table, her gray eyes burning in the candlelight. “Or did you betray her? I heard you replaced her as Joffrey’s fiancée. But I also heard that when you killed him, you threw Sansa to the lions. And that was the last anyone heard of her.”

There was naked disgust on the Northerner’s face. Margaery could not be as frank as she wished when she appraised Arya Stark, but she was curious. Arya looked and seemed very little like her sister.

“I was very fond of Sansa. I tried to help her.” Margaery spoke as calmly as she could. “No one was fond of Joffrey, I can tell you that.”

“Joffrey Baratheon was born in one of the seven hells,” Arya said clearly. “Which is where he gone home now to rot. Sansa was too young to know him when she did.”

 _I know. Which is why I killed him._ Margaery took a sip of her glass of Northern wine, the heavy aftertaste of cinnamon and cloves almost burning her lips. She set her glass down carefully. “I’d like to negotiate with you.”

Arya Stark’s face flickered. “On what terms?”

“Queen Daenerys can provide you with the means and manpower to find your sister. Gold to refinance the rebuilding of the North. She can support you in all of this, so long as you submit to the crown.”

Arya scowled. “I already have every talented scout from Astapor and beyond searching for my sister, who for all I know could already be dead. I don’t need a dragon queen meddling with that. Furthermore, debt is what tied the Baratheons to the Lannisters, causing their house to sink like a stone. I won’t indebt the North to another dying dynasty.”

Her voice burned. “The North will stay independent.”

Margaery swallowed. “I understand that, but urge you to reconsider. We truly do wish to find Sansa.”

Arya stared at her as if she were stupid. “D’you know what they say about Queen Daenerys in the East? Equal parts good and bad. Some say she’s a liberator. Others say she’s as mad as her forefathers—who ordered my grandfather and my uncle to be burned alive. I wonder if your queen told you that, before sending you on a fool's errand? I would’t submit to a Targaryen unless she comes and begs me on her hands and silver knees. Even then, it’s unlikely.”

“Queen Arya—”

The young queen stood, scowling. She slammed the point of her knife into the wooden table, the fur of her cloak settling over her shoulders. “That’s enough small talk. You could’ve helped my sister, and you chose to save your own skin. You don’t seem particularly convinced about this, so I suspect you’re only parlaying for the queen so she doesn’t order one of her dragons on you. You only have allegiance to the person who can help you most, but that’s not my problem. Go back to the South. It’s too cold in the North for the thin-skinned likes of you.”

Margaery’s face was burning. She pushed back her chair as the Stark woman stormed around the table, its legs squealing against the stone floor in protest. She grabbed Arya’s hand. “Wait.”

Arya froze, glaring at her in something between icy rage and disbelief.

“Wait,” Margaery repeated, lowering her voice. “Perhaps this isn't suited to verbal negotiation. How about something different?”

Margaery could imagine that this young queen had taken many lovers. She had a feral energy about her, a haze that seemed like it needed to be burned off. She took the younger woman’s hand and placed it on her own collarbone, pulling the palm down to the tops of her breasts at the hem of her gown.

Arya gave her a dark look of disbelief, but didn’t remove her hand. They stared eye to eye. “Really?”

“Why not?” Margaery asked her, her voice dropping into its lower ranges.

“Fine,” Arya said briefly, and pulled Margaery close to kiss her. It was a hard kiss, searing, lips and teeth meeting harshly. It was wonderful.

“This changes nothing,” Arya mumbled in Margaery’s neck, before biting down so hard that Margaery’s breath hissed out in a gasp. Gods, it would be like being a wolf’s mistress. “I’m still not helping you.”

“Are you so certain?”

Arya laughed, a harsh little bark. She pulled Margaery over to the fireplace, laying her down on the fur there. Margaery gasped at how quickly she threw Margaery’s skirt over her waist and started placing little bites up and down Margaery’s inner thighs, one hand roughly stroking Margaery’s cunt through her smallclothes. And at last, the young queen grinned up at her wolfishly.

“We’ll see. It depends how convincing you can be. Let’s see just how much cold you can take.”

Although the fire roared high next to them, Margaery was shivering with equal parts anticipation and fear as she pulled her dress up over her head.

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in 2013-4, and intended to be part of a series called Margaery makes the Eight, in which Margaery slept with a woman from every region of Westeros. There was a fic posted in which she did the same thing but slept with men. I was like, that's not going to fly!! The plan was as follows:
> 
> North: Arya Stark  
> Rock: Myrcella Baratheon  
> Vale: Myranda Royce/Mya Stone  
> Reach: Elinor Tyrell  
> Dorne: Arianne Martell  
> Stormlands: Brienne of Tarth  
> Iron Islands: Asha Greyjoy  
> Riverlands: Catelyn Stark
> 
> I only finished Arya's section - so if anyone would like to continue this, I would LOVE to see that/collab.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated.


End file.
